


In a Habit

by TurboFerret



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Clergy, Demon Deals, Demon Sex, Dirty Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Jazz is horny, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Monks, Prayer, Shameless Smut, Starvation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Succubi & Incubi, Urethral Play, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-12 09:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboFerret/pseuds/TurboFerret
Summary: Week 2: 9th Sept to 15th SeptAngels and Demons/vampires, sparkeaters, werewolvesSmut fick in a monastery that starts with worldbuilding. Jazz has kinky thoughts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you are easily offended by words that are used in church context this is a good place to stop reading.

Sounds of the bells pierced the crisp morning air, indicating the end of Vigil. Jazz yawned curling a little bit tighter in the uncomfortable seat of the prayer hall pew. Small puffs of warm air escaped from his intake, he shivered, trying to retain at least a shred of warmth for himself. Reluctantly he fluffed his armor a bit to expand the pockets of warmer air under his plating. The thin monastic habit did nothing to keep his frame temperature at a comfortable level.

A frag would be nice right now.

Unbidden, thoughts of a warm frame wrapped around his appeared in his mind and trickled towards his interface equipment. Well, at least some places in his frame were never cold.

He finally summoned courage to stand up, and pulled the prayer scrolls out of the aumbry. He should have been keeping vigil through the night, so he dusted them off, unrolled them once and rolled them back together to make it look like he's used them. He had to be quick - already he could hear the noises of the waking mecha - shuffling, talking, rousing in their berths. In no time mecha would start flooding in for the the morning salutation. He replaced the burnt-out oil lamps and pushed around the prayer pillows, making it look like he hadn't slept at all. Their abbot would not be happy if he discovered Jazz had been shirking, after all nightly prayers were important for the safety of the mecha in the convent.

Well, at least in theory, they were a prerequisite to keep out the demons who haunted the wilds. But in Jazz’s humble experience the night he got in he either was lucky because someone else was shirking OR that entire prayer thing was a bogus because lo and behold he Still was there.

Wistfully, Jazz watched the warm, molten oil slosh in the lamps as he lit them, so much wasted potential.

With his little nook credibly disturbed, Jazz stretched pleasantly, soon he would be free to have a few extra cycles of rest until midday when his other duties would call him to do some actual work.

The prayer hall door creaked and a few familiar faces and facemasks poked into the room. Jazz greeted them with a smile and friendly wave. They were so pious, so innocent, so completely not what Jazz sought for. And somehow probably the safest company he could imagine having, considering that he had zero compulsions to prey on them.

A grey and red Praxian, oddly named Bluestreak and a tiny yellow bot who everybody named Bee took places next to Jazz and he winked at them amicably. Simple grey mesh habits were the standard for monks, it made them all look equal, it also made them look like ghosts.

Bluestreak chatted, trying to entice Jazz to tell them about any nightly disturbances he might have witnessed. Jazz accommodated them with a made-up story about the creaks in the pew and scratching claws against the tall parapets, earning admiring oohs and aahs. But they were all soon shushed by one of the brothers in charge.

The sermon started with a song to Prímus, then continued with words of wisdom for that day and ultimately culminated in another song.

Initially the sermons had been entertaining, outright funny or thought-provoking. But he was so tired lately he could barely stay up throughout the entire thing or keep his thoughts from wantering about how many spikes would fit in their abbot’s intake. Wistfully, he observed an enticing set of door wings flicking drowsily a few rows from him, an occasional glimpse of an aft from under the grey mesh did not hurt either. But regardless, he was so worn out from admiring from afar that he vented in relief when it was over.

Things he would do for one good overload...

The moment it was appropriate to leave, Jazz was out of the door and headed towards the cloister path to the dormitories. He stuck to the covered walkway - even light was starting to bother him. Maintaining his form was taxing his systems on top of his general exhaustion. The only thing he was somewhat grateful for were his now dulled colors that blended in well with the general population of monks.

Jazz vented when he finally stumbled into his quarters that he shared with 2 other monks. Luckily they were all out and about so Jazz permitted his plating to shift and morph into a shape that was more familiar to him. There was no privacy in the temple of Primus so just a few stolen moments in his sleek, original form were a luxury. He traced his hands over the delicate plating of his torso and abdominals - thinned and lackluster from hunger. Half-numb it still felt good to caress himself, indulging just a little to take the edge off his frustration. He lamented the loss of most of his colors but he still felt so much better being himself. Sadly he could not doze off like that so it was with a stubborn whine of plating that he shifted back to his mech form and curled up for recharge.

Midday bells jerked him awake from fitful fluxes that were far too explicit for the walls he inhabited. Jazz onlined his visor and saw a blotchy shape of Bluestreak shifting about their shared quarters. Life in the temple of Prímus was not easy. You wake up, wash, pray, then prepare food with the brothers, and disperse to do whatever activities that you were assigned for that day. Come midday - rinse and repeat but with the side of combat training.  
Blue limped a bit since the last combat practice, having sprained his ankle hinge in a way that was not helped by the meager monastic fare.

-”Ey Blue, you arright?”

The Praxian jumped a little,

-”Jazz, sorry to wake you, just brought some crystal broth for you - you slept well and past the morning fueling.”

Jazz gratefully accepted Blue’s offer or a small bowl of almost-translucid liquid that had the faintest glow to it. Thin and unappetizing, if only Jazz could have any of that... Ruefully he played up desire to fuel only to look back at the praxian.

-”Blue, thank ya but ah think you should have it. Ah had all the rest this mornin’ but you still are healing.”

For one Jazz did not, could not consume regular fuel mechs had but he was very willing to share it with others in exchange for shirking on some duties which he enjoyed less. On the other hand, Blue really needed that.

The praxian thanked Jazz and did not refuse. Being a beginner in a temple was tough.

-”’Have some rest, I’ll do the laundry duty.”

Before Bluestreak could protest Jazz had already taken the light woven basket and pulled it under his arm.

Luckily dormitories were set up in a cluster around the califactorium - the only heated room in their entire Primus-damned building. Why they could have only one hot room besides the heated infirmaries was a mystery to Jazz but it probably had something to do with humility they were so pit-bent to maintain. Humility would have been far less obnoxious had he not been freezing his aft off.

Their habits were simple but they had to remain clean. Jazz hastily went through the living quarters of other brothers - picking up meshes they’d left out to be tended. There was no privacy for obvious reasons and no personal possessions to guard so all the separating walls were left open.

Jazz went down the cloister passage that led towards the boiling rooms adjacent to infirmary with a basket now full with meshes and habits. He’d taken up Blue’s task but it did not mean he was exempt from his own duties. Down the stairs he went to the washing rooms, winking a cheerful -“Good orn!” At his fellow brothers.

Blurr was on boiling duties while Sunstreaker and Sideswipe made sure the heat under the vats of boiling solvent stayed constant. With the washing deposited, Jazz went towards the infirmary gardens where healing crystals were cultivated. Normally it was a domain of First aid and Ratchet but Jazz sometimes took refuge under the large crystals to soak up some of their residual, nourishing fields. Jazz learnt against the larger formation and permitted himself a little daydream of red chevrons, black and white doorwings and a nice, thick spike.

He slid hands along the smooth growth lines of the crystal, imagining how that texture and girth would feel sliding between his legs. By now Jazz was almost tempted to try if only that would fill the void he felt so clearly it almost hurt. It was terrible, being hungry most of the time and having available sources of nourishment so close. He’d long since started loathing his once brilliant idea of hiding in this monastery. He had landed himself in this convoluted setting even if it had been through desperation and dumb luck.

Being a hungry demon pursued by stronger competitors he hid in the temple. Since his pursuers did not follow he decided to stay BUT hadn’t been strong enough to lure anyone with his charms. Monks were not all that defenceless. Attempting to feed forcefully was extremely dangerous for someone in his state. So he came up with a plan - he would find the most energy-rich mech in the convent, seduce him the old fashioned way and skedaddle before anyone was any wiser.

The only caveat was that he needed to frag the mech.


	2. A Chance ad Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz seizes the opportunity

After a break in the garden Jazz hurried up to the scripture room, fetching a decorative crafted satchel with him as he went. He made a brief detour by the well where he filled a jug with some fresh coolant - the scribes would appreciate it after their work. Now was the time to perform his own duties and further his own agenda.

 

He trotted towards the scriptory. The main trade of the temple were prayer cards inscribed with holy scriptures. Not any scribed cards though, they were renowned for imbuing their writing with spark energy that mecha used as good luck charms. They tingled Jazz’s fingers when he touched them so there had to be some truth to that claim. 

 

And apparently their charms had become something of a success to a point that now donations and gifts of gratitude for the charms was how they financed themselves.Which was also why they maintained a small garrison of combat-ready mecha - to protect themselves from raids.

 

Clearly a handsome part of those earnings was distributed to the nearby temples that were not as profitable. Jazz was convinced that it was one of the reasons why their abbot insisted on code of humility and their prior was so rigorous about their routine.

 

Still, to create those charms the monks had to train for orns and If that was not enough - they had to maintain spiritual integrity. More precisely - remain celibate and if they partook in carnal pleasures, as Jazz hoped at least one of them would - it would be noticed immediately in their scribing. 

 

This brought in a problem for Jazz if he were to have a proper meal and not feed off fluxes of suppressed desires mecha had for him or hug crystals for the rest of his functioning. 

 

He already had a target in mind - the prior - second in command after their abbot. A target that gave Jazz himself fluxes filled with promises of debauchery. It did not hurt that he was considered one of the best scribes in the convent - hence had to have some potent energy. Jazz had once caught himself drooling after that mech in a pang of hunger, hastily disguising that as awe-inspired gawking. 

 

A target that was also a pitspawn, stick in the aft mech with integrity forged of clearest crystal.

 

Jazz had lost the count of approaches he had tried on the mech. First off he had created a credible and approachable front - he was cute and sweet, innocently tactile, diligent and helpful - an epitome of an easy target for anyone who thought they wanted to. Primus damnit had it been somemech else he would have had a meal already. So many in convent wished to share his company and some, Jazz was sure - his berth. 

 

But not the prior, no, not him. And one of the reasons Jazz though was because he was a horrible scribe. It was not like Jazz could not make fancy squiggles but it was the absence of pure spark energy that would either expose him for what he was or get him expelled for breaking the celibate. Neither was a desirable outcome so Jazz stuck with purposefully failing as a scribe and doing menial and tedious tasks. Which inevitably brought him away from his chosen prey.

 

…Why did he have to make his life difficult?

 

Speaking of which.

 

-“Already done for today?” 

 

He piped jovially when a pale-looking mech emerged from his cell after scribe duties. He deposited several rolled-up charms into the satchel Jazz had procured and wandered through the corridor in Search of recharge and probably some fuel.

 

And there went the mech he was interested in, Jazz almost snapped his helm off in excitement as he turned abruptly to greet the mech.

 

-”Prior Prowl, brother Skids.” The both mechs had been deep in conversation - doorwings held humbly level, as they spoke in hushed voices, Jazz bet that it was about the finer details of calligraphy. Skids had had some problems scribing, he recalled.

 

Apart from his duties as a prior Prowl also was a sort of a mentor to the most scribes. The mech was thorough - dedicating time in his day to work with each scribe student individually, sometimes for hours on end to teach them if he saw that they were having difficulties. Jazz had not had the chance yet.

 

Both Prowl and Skids wore this gaunt-look of having worked through the night. Writing with spark energy had to be draining and Prowl persevered with his students but made sure to give them plenty of rest and lighter assignments until he had a moment to regain their strength.

 

-”Looks like this was a tough session, Some coolant?”

 

Jazz offered both mechs two cups he'd just filled from the jug. Prowl took the offered items and thanked Jazz with no inflection favouring him above anyone else. Jazz suppressed a sigh of disappointment but did not permit himself to linger, he could not rouse suspicion. Prowl would notice something off - he hadn’t landed in the position of a Prior for nothing. 

 

Which meant that it would me so much more delicious to defile him.

 

So it was both with excitement and trepidation that Prowl dismissed Skids and and beckoned Jazz to approach.

 

-”Brother Jazz, you are the mech I wished to see today. If you are free could I have a moment of your time?” 

 

Jazz’s vital functions almost stopped, he did a double-take on what he had just heard.

 

-”Uh-uh?” Came an eloquent response from the demon who had been so determined to seduce this mech just moments ago.

 

-”I will soon complete the training cycle of my more experienced pupils and I was wondering if you would like to try your hand in scribing again.” Prowl’s optics shone an eerie glow of a tired mech and Jazz felt giddiness bubble through his circuits. Tired mecha were less resistant to what remained of his charms. Jazz stared at the smooth expanses of those doorwings with hope - soon he will not be hungry.

 

At Jazz’s hesitation Prowl amended - “You needn’t agree if you don’t feel it is your calling, forgive me if I came on strong.”

 

Jazz shook himself out of a vivid, if short-lived, daydream and willed his vocal components to work.

 

-”N-no, it’s alright, jus’ did a vigil an’ ahm lil sleepeh.”

 

Prowl blinked, trying to parse the garbled speech while Jazz wanted to melt into ground. Some grand seductor he was. Jeez. No wonder he was yet to succeed with this mech.

 

-”Would you like to take some time to consider? I assure you there is no penalty for trying.”

 

-”YES!!” Jazz suddenly barked out, when he had finally managed ruling in his frame. - “ Ah mean, no, I, em...” Jazz paused realizing that he was not helping Prowl understand and was making a fool of himself, to top it all off he could feel his faceplates glow in embarrassment.

 

Prowl observed him very carefully now -”Jazz, are you alright?”

 

Jazz plastered a smile on his face and nodded vigorously through the screaming  _ Slag, Slag, Slag _ that went on in his helm.

 

-”Yeah, I’m fine.” Jazz attempted to come off as nonchalant and nearly dropped the jug of coolant he’d forgotten he was holding and scrambled to catch it. -”Oh, whoops, I mean. That that would be an honor. When could we start?”

 

Prowl smiled at him indulgently in a way that made Jazz’s insides melt -”I appreciate your enthusiasm but you will need some time to prepare. We will start after the prime day, please make sure you have all the tools necessary by then. I will forward you the list in the evening.”

 

-”I will make sure to get everything ready.” Jazz bowed to Prowl deeply, both in respect and out of gratitude for what the mech would be giving up. That was only being courteous to his victims.

 

The remainder of the day went quickly for Jazz, he even had a slight skip to his walk and a small sway to his hip. All the charms produced that night were brought into the library which had a designated shelf for their wares. 

 

With his shifts completed and training done Jazz couldn’t wait for Prowl’s message to arrive. This was the chance he had been waiting for and he had to make this work. And in order to make this work he had to do his own preparations. 

 

He borrowed a small vial of scented oil from the infirmary, being careful not to alert Ratchet or Red Alert of its disappearance. He recruited Bluestreak to help him clean up his plating and polish his chassis in hard to reach places until it shined to a degree that only slightly bent the code of humility. 

 

-”You want to impress him don’t you?” Bluestreak observed as he helped Jazz getting grit and pebbles out from where they had accumulated in his wheel wells. He was incredibly perceptive when he got some rest.

 

Jazz went with watered-down truth. -”He’s amazing Blue! I just want to leave a good impression. We have never had a chance to have a proper talk and until now all he knew of me was my poor scribing.” 

 

Bluestreak nodded as he swiped the oily cloth down Jazz’s backstrut, leaving behind a subdued shine. -"Well, you are also pretty cheery you know. I'm sure he nitoced..." They were interrupted by a knock. Jazz, anxious about getting Prowl’s message, opened their door only to be greeted by some mech he did not know very well and being handed a small folded scroll. 

 

-”Oh hi there mech, how can ah help ya?”

 

-”Here’s a scribe’s list, make sure you get everything before you start.”

 

Well wasn’t that mech a sunshine. And even if Jazz was mildly disappointed that it was not Prowl himself, he was more curious about the supplies. When he had attempted scribing the first time they just practiced in the yard sand - easy and cheap to assess whether or not a mech had a knack for it. But this was something else. Most of the ink powders had to be created by Jazz himself. Either from ground metalloflora that or powdered minerals. Scrolls had to be woven from silica...He let out a low whistle when Bluestreak peeked over his shoulder strut.

 

-”Eh, hasn’t changed much since I tried scribing.”

 

Jazz turned to Bluestreak with new-found curiosity.

 

-”You scribed? But I thought you were a sharpshooter.”

 

-”I am but I tried scribing first.” Bluestreak shrugged. -”Turns out it would harm my spark if I were to scribe regularly and Prowl suggested I tried something else.”

 

Jazz gave Bluestreak a calculating look. -”Would ya have any of ya supplies left layin’ around?”

 

Bluestreak had the audacity to look cheeky -”I’ll trade them for two laundry shifts.”

Jazz did a quick calculation about the pros and cons and found them agreeable.

 

-”Ya got yaself a deal, lil’ Blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz speaks different with Bluestreak who he considers a buddy and Prowl who he wants to impress.


	3. Executed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see all those tags above?  
> They apply specifically and explicitly to this chapter.   
> Tread with caution.

 

It was past Primes day and Jazz had a feeling that the lesson in scribing Prowl wanted to give him had started before they met for the actual thing. Even with Bluestreak’s stash of prepared supplies Jazz still had to devote the most of his free time to locate what remaining tools were necessary. He’d asked the veawer mecha for a couple of silica scrolls because he’d done some shifts for them but he had to weave the rest himself. He Also had to find those particular crystals that were known to enhance arousal in mecha and grind them finely enough that they blended with the ink powder - he was certain his own charms were not going to be enough to entice a mech like Prowl. 

 

On top of that Jazz distilled solvent, carved the tips of styli from wild-growing hanging crystals known for their hardness and had ended up scratching his hands badly in process. That got him a scolding from Ratchet for not being careful enough.

 

Now it was the wait. Absentmindedly Jazz picked at one of the bandages covering the worst of the injuries on his hands while waiting on a bench in the scriptorium.

 

-”You shouldn’t do that, unless you want Ratchet to have a go at you again.”

 

Jazz looked up and put on the most charming smile he could come up with. -”Prior Prowl?”

 

-”Just Prowl will do. Pardon me for making you wait.” Prowl extended his hand to help Jazz stand up. Wary of the bandages, he helped Jazz by taking a hold of his forearm instead.

 

This was a dream, Jazz thought, the mech was amazing so far. 

 

-”I prefer working in my office, If you do not mind.” 

 

Right, the Abbot and Prior enjoyed some privacy and actually had individual rooms. Which worked perfectly into Jazz’s plan. He had to suppress little shivers of anticipation when Prowl lead him in direction of his office.

 

Like most other rooms in the temple, it was sparsely decorated with very few if any personal belongings. In case of Prowl there was a desk and a bench to work on - all simple and functional. The only things that stood out was a shelf with scrolls and writing supplies. There were blended inks in inkwells and little glass containers of pigmented powders for ink making. There was also a small bowl full of quill tips and a glass full of different sizes and shapes of styluses.

 

-”May I inspect your writing supplies?” Jazz placed his significantly less numerous set on Prowl’s table and Prowl hummed when he looked at the styluses.

 

-”You did well with ink powders but for the state your hands are in we will use a different kind of stylus.” Prowl hovered over the shelf and hummed when he found something that met his approval.

 

-”Here. Try it.” Prowl handed Jazz a curved ebony stylus with highly polished surface. It lay comfortably in his hand and had a rather pleasant weight to it.

 

-”I’ll take it that you are actually familiar with the glyphs you are writing.” Jazz nodded affirmative, debating if he should go the route of being a good student that deserved reward or a bad student that needed punishment and which approach would work better with Prowl.

 

-”Let us begin.” 

 

Prowl sat down on the bench and patted a space between his spread thighs in invitation. That gesture alone almost made Jazz’s starved systems melt down. If only that spike cover was open he’d pounce on it like a...starved interface demon…There was something horribly ironic about acting out a plot from an expression coined after his kind.

 

-”For now we will practice the strokes, come, like this I can guide your hand.” 

 

Prowl was saying something... Shakily Jazz sat on the edge of the bench and oh so carefully scooted his aft towards the apex of Prowl’s legs. 

 

-“There.” Prowl instructed as he lay his hands on Jazz’s hips - stopping him before Jazz had managed scooting his aft into his’ crotch.

 

Jazz shivered a little at the touch, Prowl’s body heat was too close for Jazz’s starved systems not to react.

 

-“Which one is your main hand?”

 

Jazz showed it by lifting the hand in question and yelped when Prowl took his hand and placed it between his own two hands, significantly warmer to touch. Once Jazz’’s hand had absorbed some of the heat he gave it a small massage, rubbing gently between the tubing of his fingers to alleviate any knots or tension, careful of his injuries. Jazz thought he’d melt into a puddle.

 

-“Take the stylus.”

 

Oh, right, they had a scribing lesson after all. Jazz scrambled for the tool almost upending the inkwell in his rush. Prowl caught it before it danced off the edge of the table.

 

-“Easy now, we haven’t even started.”

 

Said so close behind him Jazz could feel the voice reverbate through his chassis and….

 

When he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Prowl reached around him and clasped his hand around Jazz’s hand with stylus, guiding him to stroke the tool several times - up and down.

 

-“How does it feel?”

 

_ Like I want ya to frag me.  _ Was what Jazz wanted to say.

 

_ -“ _ It feels, uh, knobby?”

 

-“Yes , that is for the comfort of the grip, do you feel this groove here?”

 

Jazz felt it alright, and a bump next to that groove and the gentle tapering or the,  _ oh frag he was getting all hot over a stupid stylus. _

 

_ - _ “Do not worry, I will guide you through the basic strokes.”

 

Jazz gulped, there was something horribly erotic in that reassuring tone. He bit his dermas in attempt to focus on anything else but Prowl’s lips being so close to his right audial.

 

-“You seem to be very fond of me Jazz.”

 

_ Frag yes  and you've been so hard to get _

 

-“Y-Yea.”Jazz managed a semi-strangled bleat as an answer but that seemed to be comprehensible enough for Prowl.

 

-“Ah really admire ya - yer an excellent scribe an a great role model.”

He stammered as Prowl held Jazz’s digits and guided him through the glyphs. So tantalizingly close, It took all his self-restraint not to just pounce.

 

Prowl adjusted the grip of his hand and guided Jazz through another set of glyphs. 

 

-“You accent sounds foreign even for a non-Praxian.”

 

-“Ah’m from the lower hexes of Polyhex.”

 

-“Ah-ah, maintain your grip.” Prowl admonished when Jazz paid more attention to conversation rather than proper form of the glyphs they were writing together.

 

This was the most excruciating lesson Jazz had ever had. He gripped the stylus with renewed vigor and tried again, Prowl’s digits now remaining a light press on his own, indicating where he should add pressure and where he should lighten his stroke.

 

-“Not so hard, ease up. The-ere.” Prowl drowled warmly as they completed a set of glyphs and Jazz chanced a look up only to notice that Prowl was not watching the writing. He was watching Jazz.

 

As expected, Jazz’s writing was devoid of the spark-imbued glow attributed to really proficient scribes - or those that actually maintained celibate and were not imposters.

 

Jazz really hoped that Prowl would attribute it to him being inexperienced rather than anything more incriminating.

 

-“Curious.”

 

Jazz held his vents, waiting for Prowl to say something but instead he slipped the back of his hand over Jazz’s cheek. Jazz gasped but tried remaining perfectly still because this was The opportunity of a lifetime and Jazz had made it happen with no charms at all. The powdered aphrodisiac remained unused, sealed in the powdered ink pigment, curious indeed.

 

Jazz let Prowl examine his face and trace his digitips over Jazz’s plush lips. Jazz did not notice or care about who breached the distance first but suddenly they were kissing, ardently, at the scribing desk like young bots who just discovered their drive. Jazz was so revved up and desperate that he giggled a little when Prowl’s lips traced ticklich kisses over his jaw and closed over his neck tubing.

 

Prowl held Jazz’s face gently in his hands and Jazz could not help but swoon over this turn of events - soon oh so soon he will have a meal and finally be able to have enough energy to leave and frag like he preferred.

 

Jazz thought Prowl was being playfully rough when he nipped him lightly but it soon became apparent that it was not all that. In fact right after Prowl unhinged his jaw and bit into Jazz’s neck tubing with a decisive crunch Jazz realized that Prowl was no prey and Jazz might be the one had for dinner that night.

 

This was not how this was supposed to go. With a snarl, Jazz tried wrenching himself away but neck tubing was too delicate, too vital to just rip out. Instead he struck Prowl’s chevron and used the pain he’d caused to wrestle his way out of Prowl’s jaws and grip. Sadly they were still both in the same room. The narrow corridor for escape lay right behind Prowl so Jazz backed himself up against the wall.

 

-“Ya fragger.” Jazz hissed, holding his injured neck, pressing down on his leaking lines.

 

Prowl wiped his intake with the back of his hand and grinned, rows of needle-like teeth glistening with Jazz’s fluids.

 

-“You are not what you appear either.”

 

He took a step closer to Jazz who had all his hackles raised.

  
  


-“Come closer an’ ah’ll scream an’ blow ya cover.” Jazz hissed and used the stool like a barrier to keep distance between Prowl and himself. 

  
  


Prowl’s optics had changed color to emerald green as he looked at Jazz with a challenging smirk.

 

-“Oh will you now?”

 

And next moment he vanished. Frag, Jazz could have/would have done that in the first place had he not been starving and severely depleted. Nervously he looked around for an attack, but it seemed that Prowl had disappeared for good? 

 

Weird, but Jazz was not going to argue. He ran towards the door only to trip on thin air and land face first on the floor. 

 

-“The frAaa-mph.” 

 

Something closed around his mouth, muffling his scream as he saw Prowl materialize  _ through  _ his chest. 

 

A more solid weight settled on top of Jazz’s chest and gradually pressed him into the floor.  As Prowl straddled his chest and leant closer to his face Jazz came to a conclusion that Prowl might be the sadistic kind of demon to torture his victims before offlining them.

 

-“I had my doubts at first. The state of depletion you are at, you are barely better than a mortal - you couldn’t have successfully laid charms on anyone unless they wanted to have anything with you in the first place. So you sought shelter here. No wonder it took me a while to pinpoint you.”

 

Jazz whimpered - he hadn’t known he’d encroached on other demon’s haunt. He was hungry, his senses had dulled, he still IS hungry.

 

He looked at Prowl with pleading optics- there was not much else he could do - he was outclassed and outgunned. Pinned to the ground, with a warm frame on top of oh him, holding him down….

Ooh no, this was not a good time for his frame to react without his processor getting involved. Jazz squeaked and wriggled in obvious desperation and discomfortwhen he felt his valve cover slip aside. Showing submission by exposing his sensitive interface equipment in hopes of getting nourishment was a  gamble with high stakes.

 

In response to this Prowl sniffed the air and reached behind him to trace his fingers over Jazz’s hip plating and towards his interface panels, dipping his digits into Jazz’s lubricants - little as he was able to produce in his state.

 

Jazz buckled and squirmed, expecting violence - demons could turn real nasty when territory was involved and mutilation was not unheard of.

 

For now Prowl lifted the lubricant-stained digits to his mouth and licked them, making Jazz want to howl because of the mixed messages that was sending to his processor. 

 

Prowl was danger, Prowl also was evaluating him. Prowl had all the means and time to turn Jazz into an empty husk but he could potentially still be a source of energy if he wanted to - demons had the option of sharing energy, they were just really stingy about it.

 

Jazz had stopped his venting as he tried reading Prowl, Clicks passed, He remained online.

 

Finally Prowl had what passed for mercy at the moment and got to his peds, taking his weight off Jazz.

 

-“Make a sound and there will not be a wet  patch left to call by your name.”

 

Jazz nodded in assent and was released to stand up.

 

-“Where do you think you are going?” 

 

Prowl asked with an undertone of instant violence when Jazz tried inching away.

 

Jazz stopped in his tracks, acutely aware of each of Prowl’s movements. 

 

-“Ah figured ya could have me offline whenever ya wanted so since ah was still alive ah was free ta leave yer territory.”

 

Prowl actually snorted at this.

 

-“This weak? You will be an easy prey to whoever gets to you first.”

 

Hooboy, it was not like Jazz had a whole lot of options to pick from. Unless Prowl was a crossroads demon - the type to make deals with his victims, in which case that was a whole lot of different trouble.

 

-“Ah’m getting a sense that there is mo to what ya saying.”

 

-“That depends on what you would be willing to do for it.”

 

Jazz sighed internally -  _ Of course _ Prowl was the crossroads demon because Jazz did not have enough on his plate as it was.

 

-“Ah’ll try mah chances. Sorry fo’ intrudin’ in ya hount, didna’ know and didn’t actually frag anyone.”

 

Prowl chuckled -“I would have known if you had.”

 

-“Yeah, thought tha’ ya were the best outta all the pick, in a way ya are.”

 

Jazz talked as he walked backwards towards the exit, hoping a little flattery would not hurt. He grabbed the door handle and tried prying it open but it held fast, stuck, not locked. Another tendril of panic curled in Jazz’s spark.

 

Prowl smiled a pleasant smile but his optics were calculating.

 

-“I’m afraid I was not clear enough, Jazz, you do not have an option of leaving.”

 

Jazz gulped, noting the wetness that continued seeping down his neck. Was Prowl the kind to enjoy watching his victims leak out until they offlined? He literally just had to sit and watch - he’d have all the time on his side. Desperate, Jazz turned to rage.

 

-“Ah don’ get ya, mech, ah thought ya didna want me here! What’s it that ya want, a fight? Ah yield then, pride be damned ah wanna get outta ‘ere alive.”

 

Prowl gave this statement a long consideration as his optics traced a path that a single drop of Jazz’s energon made as it slid down Jazz’s abdominal plating and towards his inner thigh, then Prowl’s optics lingered on his still-exposed valve.

 

Jazz gulped as he thought back to what he said. Prowl beat him to it.

 

-“You yield, you say?”

 

Jazz rolled his optics. This was why one always had to watch their intake around crossroads demons.

 

-“Only in instance where ya aim ta fight me for territorial purposes or any other reason that is likely to cause me physical, mental or spiritual harm or discomfort. Yes, ah yield.” Jazz chanted a verse he’d learned in order to keep the likes of Prowl on a sort of legal restraint when it came to yielding. It did not stop Prowl from attacking regardless but at least Jazz was not ‘Yielding’ in a sense as broad as Prowl could make it.

 

Prowl patiently listened to this but instead of being disappointed his smile grew broader. 

 

-“This suits me well then.”

 

Wait what!? 

 

-“Mech this is th’ part where ya threaten me wit’ violence, not agree to what ah say.” Unless Jazz has completely misread the mech.

 

-“No, this is just fine.”

 

Jazz eyed the mech warily - was he crazy? 

 

-“Ah’ll be on my way then.” He tried his previous retreat maneuver.

 

-“Certainly.” Came a polite response as if they’d always been on such terms. Jazz yanked the door again, noting it stuck once more.

 

-“Mech, if ya plan ta off me can ya at least be quick about it? Ah’m starvin’ an’ frankly ah don’t got much time.”

 

-“I am not planning to.” Prowl’s optics twinkled with mischief.

 

-“Will ya unblock the door for meh?”

 

-“No.”

 

Ok, that was it, Jazz  was done with this scrap. Angrily he stalked to the mech and poked him in the chest plates.

 

-“The frag is wrong with you?! Whatever crazy slag ya wreqin', just do it already!”

 

Prowl had been waiting for this. He pulled Jazz’s outstretched arm towards himself effectively unbalancing him and used the momentum he’d gained to twirl Jazz around and press him face first into the stone wall.

 

-“If you wish so.” He purred, the slagger goddamn  _ purred  _ while biting down on the injured side of Jazz’s neck again. 

 

Growling angrily Jazz tried pushing away from the wall.

 

-“Get offa mmmph!” Prowl clamped Jazz’s mouth shut with a hand. This was distressing enough, but what grabbed Jazz’s attention completely was two fingers that rimmed the platelets of his valve, pushed them aside and plunged inside without preamble.

 

Jazz yelped and stiffened at the sudden intrusion. It felt uncomfortable, his valve was too dry, there was no way Prowl hadn’t felt it too. And a moment later Prowl stopped before any damage was done. 

 

Instead he approached Jazz’s audial again -“If you want to feed tonight, you will remain quiet.”

 

Jazz had to do a double-take on what he heard, and a questioning sound he made indicated his confusion to Prowl.

 

-“That does not pass for quiet, Jazz, I thought you were hungry.”

 

Oh frag, Jazz had trouble following Prowl’s mercurial changes of temper. But he remained quiet when Prowl released his mouth. A finger still lingered on Jazz’s dermas as Prowl licked the injured side of Jazz’s neck, this time coating it in a sort of thick saliva that stopped any more energon from leaking.

 

-“Am I clear?”

 

Hesitantly, Jazz nodded, and let Prowl maneuver his hips into a position that made his aft stick out. Jazz braced his arms against the wall, being familiar with what such a position entailed, apparently - dry valve or not - Prowl had deemed him ready enough. 

 

What Jazz hadn’t expected was Prowl kneeling behind him and encouraging Jazz to part his legs further. Curiously he peeked over his shoulder strut and saw Prowl looking back and smirking before leaning towards Jazz’s aft and giving his valve a long lick.

 

Jazz panted, light headed from energon loss and arousal. Prowl’s tongue was something else - Jazz mewled into his curled fist when Prowl wiggled it deeper into Jazz’s valve, this was actually really good. 

 

Prowl kept lapping at Jazz’s entrance until the mix of his oral lubricants and Jazz’s own hesitant lubrication has made his passage malleable and slick. Not as slick as it could get but good enough for the moment.

 

Jazz shivered, already detesting the emptiness that Prowl’s tongue left as it slithered out of his valve. But this was soon forgotten as a new wave of panic washed over him when Prowl stood up. Would the mech hurt him or turn his insides to mush? In the end - arousal won and Jazz wiggled his hips a little in a silent plea for more attention. This was what he had been missing after all.

 

A snick of interface cover sliding aside echoed in the cavernous room like a promise. 

 

Something warm and blunt slipped upwards through his platelets and Jazz stood on his tiptoes and arched his back so his aft stuck out, seeking more contact. 

 

Prowl was not in a hurry though and their contact was limited to these teasing touches. Restless and needy, Jazz reverted to begging.

 

_ Please-  _ he mouthed, respecting Prowl’s request to stay quiet. 

 

-“What was that?”

 

-“P- please.” Jazz whispered.

 

-“Please what, Jazz?” Prowl accentuated by rubbing the tip of his spike against the ring of Jazz’s inlet, making no attempt to push in any deeper. 

 

-“I need to know exactly what you want.”

 

-“Pit, frag meh!” Jazz hissed in an angry whisper. Adding -“Please.” As an afterthought and was immediately rewarded by that bulbous tip pushing inside his passage - tight from not being used in such a long time. 

 

Jazz panted as his calipers fluttered and adjusted. Prowl drew air into his vents with a low hiss, pulling his spike out oh so slowly and angling his hips upwards for a deeper thrust. Jazz’s frame, sensing that nourishment was close, started producing lubricant in more quantities and Prowl was greeted by a pleasantly slick second penetration.

 

Jazz braced his helm against the wall, venting in sync with the achingly slow rhythm Prowl set for them both, his legs trembled from the sharp angle his hips had to maintain. He was getting fragged but there had been no nourishment yet and he was near-empty.

 

-“Please.” He begged again, more desperately now. -“Please Prowl, Please, Please.”

 

-“You want me to be the one to fill you? You want me to flood your valve until leak my transfluid like a slut? Do you want to be fed like this?”

 

Jazz moaned shamelessly, Prowl knew how to use his voice alright and Jazz just happened to have a thing for dirty talk. Regardless, there was an obvious caveat in what Prowl was saying but Jazz was being fragged too well to care.

 

-“Yes.” He breathed.

 

Prowl sped up his pace now, effectively blowing Jazz circuits.

 

-“Are you sure?” Prowl punctuated this with a deep thrust and was rewarded with a sharp 

 

-“Frag, yes!” From Jazz.

 

-“Prove it.”

 

Jazz yelped when Prowl pulled out abruptly; causing more lubricant trickle down Jazz’s thighs.

 

-“W-what?”

 

-“Turn around.”

 

Jazz did.

 

-“Spread your legs.”

 

Jazz did, wincing, as several drops of lubricant oozed from his valve straight onto the floor with a wet splat.

 

-“Open your spike cover.”

 

Jazz gulped and obeyed, thoughts of mutilation returning to his mind with frosty clarity. Would he have to endure pain to prove how much he needed fuel?

 

His thoughts were not helped when Prowl picked up the smooth, knobby ebony stylus they’d started their evening with. He raised the tool to his mouth and made a show of licking it - coating it generously in his oral lubricant. Jazz observed this with rapt attention, being highly suspicious of the part this tool was to play in their activities.

 

Prowl then approached Jazz and traced his fingers around the ring opening where Jazz’s spike lay retracted. 

 

-“Pressurize it.”

 

Jazz pressed flat against the wall in refusal he did not dare voicing. That thing was not going anywhere near his spike as long as he could help it.

 

-“You have never done this before?” Prowl asked mildly. -”It can feel very good.”

 

Jazz shook his helm - no, he’d never introduced or let anyone introduce anything in his transfluid duct.

 

Prowl reconsidered the girth of his chosen tool.

 

-“Very well.” Prowl turned to the shelf with styluses and chose a thinner, shorter shaft that had a polished, softly undulating surface. -“We will start with something less intimidating then.”

 

Jazz gulped, that looked less sinister, still, scary, but a kind of scary he would at least try to take.

 

-“You seem to like this one more.”

 

Jazz nodded in assent and released his spike from its casing before Prowl changed his mind.

 

Instead of licking the tool like he did before, Prowl pressed it to Jazz’s lips instead.

 

-“Perhaps feeling the texture for yourself will make you less wary.”

 

Jazz opened his mouth and carefully inspected the tool with his glossa. The metal felt smooth and cool to touch.

 

When Prowl retrieved it there was a thin string of oral lubricant that trailed after it.

 

-“Good.”

 

Prowl then Lifted Jazz's chin kissed him the same way he did when they both had sat at the scribing table. Jazz thought he was drowning, the mech also somehow managed stroking his spike. 

 

-”Beautiful.” Prowl whispered against Jazz’s lips when he saw a precursory bead of prefluid seeping from the slit of Jazz’s spike. 

 

Jazz still has some reservations seeing how small his slit was and how large the tool appeared in comparison.

 

-“Ah don’t think tha’ will fit.”

 

-“You should have a little more confidence in yourself.” Prowl carefully placed the tip of the toy’s shaft at Jazz’s slit but clearly was not taking Jazz’s objection this time.

 

Bodily Jazz tried pressing himself away from the invading tool. That earned him a disapproving growl from Prowl.

 

-“Don’t make sudden movements.” And with that warning Prowl gently pressed the rounded end of the stylus into Jazz’s slit, rotating it to coat it in the viscous lubricant and pushing it just a little deeper. Jazz jerked somehow managing to keep his hips steady. It felt weird even if the sensation itself was not offensive. Prowl observed Jazz closely while pulling the tool out a bit to slowly plunge it in a bit deeper. Jazz's prefluid oozed down Prowl's hand as the entire grooved length of the stylus was easily pumped in and out of Jazz’s slit. Soon only the head of the stylus and the ring attached to it remained visible.

 

-“Looks like it fits wonderfully.”

 

Jazz was a mess, he couldn’t form coherent words, there was oral lubricant drooling down the corner of his mouth from all the whimpers and moans he’d suppressed. His spike felt full and heavy; like he was overloading even if nothing was coming out. 

 

Prowl took this opportunity to kiss Jazz deeply a few times more, indulging in the soft, relaxed response. Finally Jazz was willingly accepting and demanding more by wrapping his arms around Prowl’s neck to keep him there.

 

Prowl got his attention by gently lifting the ring attached to the stylus and letting it dangle, making Jazz gasp sharply.

 

-“You were so good. You have earned a reward. I will let you drink from me. Would you like that?”

 

Jazz no longer knew if he was hungry, horny or if he wanted to overload first. In the end he just wanted Prowl in whichever shape.

 

Jazz nodded in assent and Prowl gently pushed on his shoulders.

 

-“Kneel.”

 

Jazz did, bringing is face level with Prowl’s spike. The mech smirked from above, with a flash of warning in those green optics

 

-“You know what to do.” He stroked one of Jazz’s audios. -“Bite and you will regret it.”

 

Jazz’s look was bleary and unfocused, he couldn’t even think of hurting Prowl now. 

 

He carefully took Prowl’s shaft in his hand licked the prefluid that had dripped down the shaft, moaning softly at the taste. Then he circled the warm head and locked his lips around it in a sloppy kiss. Prowl shivered and placed his hands on the wall before him to steady himself. 

 

-“Yes, keep it up and you will not be hungry again”

 

Jazz lapped up the full length of Prowl’s spike, purring as Prowl dropped his one hand down to stroke Jazz’s audial. After a moment Jazz managed gulping down Prowl’s spike until the hilt.

 

-“Very Good.” Prowl gasped as he felt his transfluid tanks spasm and initiate the release of the fluid. He felt it course down his spike and into Jazz’s warm intake.

 

Jazz made a little noise of surprise and carefully adjusted the position of Prowl’s spike not to choke on the rich essence now dripping from the mech.

By the time Prowl was finished he was panting too - sharing energy could be taxing especially with an individual that needed so much to be replaced.

 

Prowl pulled out and stroked the underside of Jazz’s jaw, lifting it up inspect the mech. He looked beautiful in the post-overload glow. His visor was no longer dim, even if he still looked exhausted. Prowl reached down to Jazz’s still straining spike and looped his finger through the ring attachment to gently pull it out. 

 

Jazz shuddered a bit but otherwise did not react to the extraction of the toy.There was some of Jazz’s prefluid coating it and Prowl licked that clean to recuperate a little of what he had given up.

 

-“And with this, my dear Jazz, our pact is sealed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go


	4. Pillow talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is a chapter where we find out what happens to Jazz after their tryst.

Jazz woke up from a vivid dream of the most satisfying fragging session he’d ever had only to realize that the room was upside down. For a moment he thought he was falling and startled, flappingh his arms wildly only to realize that the room was fine and it was him who was suspended somehow? Now with more conscious deliberation he felt around himself for any kind of support only to realize he could not do much. He was effectively strapped in place by several thick, scaly coils.

 

Okay, he also noted that he actually felt better, less famished, and his valve felt pleasantly stretched. Hum, so the last night had actually happened, Prowl had fragged him senseless and also, Jazz felt that he had entered into something he did not fully understand.

 

Which brought him back to the initial question, why was he suspended like this and where was Prowl because he was most likely the one who’d put Jazz in this position.

 

-”Awake already?” Prowl drawled sleepily somewhere from above and Jazz tilted his helm trying to distinguish where the voice came from. He followed the black and white glistening coils that were keeping him put. And surely, up in the rafter, covered in obsidian  and pale cream scales was none other than Prowl. The scale pattern matched Prowl’s mech colors so Jazz had no doubt about who it was that had spoken to him.

 

Prowl opened one emerald optic to look at Jazz lazily, then tasted the air with his tongue and pulled himself up and towards Jazz, his coils tightening briefly around his prey. 

 

Unsure of his standing, Jazz chanced to lay some common ground.

 

-”Ah don’ mean ta be picky but do ya always tie up yer berthmates?”

 

-”Only the ones I plan to keep.”

 

-”’Bout that, ah’m a bit confused about the last night.”

 

Prowl hummed and repositioned himself so that he was right above where he’d placed Jazz.

 

-”What confuses you?”

 

Jazz was a bit thrown by how casually they now spoke, there was none of the threat display of the previous night.

 

-”Well, we discovered who each of us was, you attacked me and then you fragged the livin’ daylights outta meh. Not that I’m complainin’ ‘bout the frag part but, ah’m not sure ‘bout the rest.” Jazz gestured at the onyx coils still keeping him in place.

 

-”Are you strong enough to pull yourself up?”

 

Jazz tested his own strength and was pleased to note that, yes, he was. Prowl let him settle himself on the rafter beside the coiled pile of his tail.

 

Jazz was surprised how normal it felt just to sit next to a demon that was likely stronger than him, at least in physical aspect. Belatedly he realized that he had shifted into his original shape at some point through the night.

 

Prowl stretched and settled on his wide coils, using them as a pillow to make himself comfortable.

 

-”Go ahead, you had questions.”

 

-”How come ya did not offline me? In th’ end ya even fed me.”

 

-”You yielded, and, you had not harmed my flock regardless whether or not you knew what I was.”

 

Jazz blinked, not understanding.

 

-”Your flock?”

 

Prowl hummed in assent and inspected Jazz’s plating with mild interest. -”Why do you think this abbey is so successful?”

 

Now wasn’t this a good question. An abbey with a crossroads demon as a prior who taught apprentices to scribe good luck charms. In a way, wishing for something was like making a deal. Just their visitors did not know what they might be giving up for a little bit of good fortune.

 

-”Those are not good luck charms that we make - they are curses.”

 

Prowl rumbled, enjoying how quick Jazz was. -”Very weak ones, meant to leech off small amounts life energy over extended periods of time. Or as long as one is in possession of such a charm.”

 

-”So it’s th’ quantity that matters. But…” Jazz furrowed his brow. -”Tha’s not right - you would have been discovered by now if everyone who got the charm lived a less healthy life.”

 

-”Indeed, only the charms I create have such property. I would not want this site to fall under investigation of the Temple of Primes elite. Other charms are just tokens, or a little more, depending on how good the scribe is.”

 

-”Tha’s pretty clever.” Jazz looked at Prowl with new-found admiration.

 

-”Thank you. Is there anything else you want to know? The vigils will be over soon and it will be a remiss of me not to return to my duties of a prior.” 

 

Jazz wanted to know a whole lot but the most important question for him now was.

 

-”What do I do? What does yielding to ya mean?”

 

-”It means that you accept the rules of living under my jurisdiction. Namely - keep up the way you have conducted yourself before and you will not have any issues. But I must insist on you not touching my flock or any visitors we may have.”

 

-”That’s very generous of you but how do I feed?”

 

-”I thought we covered that yesterday but I understand how that might have paled in light of our ...other activities.”

 

Jazz did recall that particularly perverted moment, Prowl offered and Jazz had agreed. Then he would have agreed to almost anything. His cheeks warmed and he lowered his gaze slightly. Speaking of which he did feel a certain fullness in his valve where it usually wasn’t. He’d experienced this only once before and with a demon he knew. So he had to be sure.

 

-”Did, did ya plug me?”

 

Prowl lifted his optical ridge and had the audacity to look affronted. -”That’s a rather crass way of calling it but yes. I thought a token of goodwill would work better in persuading you to stay.”

 

Essentially consisting of congealed transfluid that a mate deposited in their partners valve the plug released nutrients as it melted. Plugs were considered a nuptial gift by some demons and were a very intimate thing to do for someone he barely knew.

 

-”Ya want me to stay.”

 

There was a pause where their optics locked - Prowl held Jazz’s gaze easily with unwavering almost reptilian steadiness.

 

-”Yes.”

 

-”Why?”

 

-”Company.”

 

So Prowl was lonely, though nothing in the tone or way he said it prompted Jazz to pity him. If anything, Prowl seemed to be the kind that enjoyed being on his own. However, surrounded by mecha that shared nothing in common with him must have made for an existence that did not cater to his comfort. And if any of the behaviours Prowl displayed now were indicative of his true persona then he enjoyed comfort quite a bit.

 

-”Ya not worried ‘bout me tempting yer scribes?”

 

-”Should I be?”

 

-”Jus’ thinkin’ out loud. Ya seem ta trust me way too much for havin’ just figured out who ah was.”

 

-”I had my suspicions but I needed solid proof and yesterday I got it.”

 

-”But ya don’ know me.”

 

Prowl readjusted his pile of coils so that he was within arm’s reach from Jazz. -”How long exactly have you been here?”

 

-”Feels like foreva, but ah’d say quite a bit.” Jazz permitted Prowl to stroke his helm and leant into the touch when Prowl found a real good spot near the base of his horn.

 

-”Firty three orn. You sleep during vigil, you do not consume regular fuel, you trade jobs with other brothers. You absorb the energy from crystals when you cannot take the hunger, you stole the perfumed oils from infirmary. And, you moan my name in recharge.”

 

Jazz opened his intake, paused and then closed it. -”Ah take that back.” In his pursuit of Prowl he had not known or noticed that Prowl had also been observing him.

 

-”There is more to you than your habits.” Prowl tilted Jazz’s helm just so that he could examine the wound he inflicted the night before. -”And I aim to discover that if you’ll permit me.” Jazz let Prowl put his lips around the wound and lick at it again to remove any dirt that might have gotten there. Jazz did not complain but he stiffened in discomfort - both physical and at the memory of how he got the woud.

 

-”Does it still hurt?” 

 

-”Yeh, ya got a strong bite mech.”

 

Prowl sighed in exasperation. -”I felt establishing dominance was the most straightforward way of preventing future damage to either of us. I hope in time you will feel more comfortable about my presence. ”

 

It was awkward in a jarring kind of way. Jazz’s kind was considered desirable berthmates even among demons but never in his functioning had Jazz been propositioned like this. 

 

-”What if ah wanna leave?” He did not want to be tied down with a mech he did not even know. Wooing a mate for feeding was different from his personal tastes as far as partners went.

 

-“I would not suggest doing that yet. At least not until my scent has disappeared from you.”

 

Jazz narrowed his optics, that would be at least for as long as his system dissolved Prowl’s plug, and maybe a little longer, granted that Prowl and him did not repeat their tryst. 

 

It a way it was in Jazz’s benefit - the less he smelt of someone else the less likely he would be involved in demon turf wars as blackmail material but...

 

-“That plug was not jus’ the gesture o goodwill was it?”

 

-“No, it was not.” Prowl inclined his helm with a smile. -”I was hoping to get you to stay long enough to persuade you not to leave.”

 

-“If ya wanted to have me ya coulda bound me with a deal too.” Jazz blurted out.

 

Prowl clicked his glossa in distaste. -“I could have also bound you up in chains and left you in the basement.”

 

With a snicker Jazz looked to the side. -”For some poor acolyte to find? And here ah thought ya didna want me ta scare your flock.”

 

Prowl hummed, slithering closer to Jazz and using his muscular body to wind a loose coil around Jazz’s waist.

 

-”No, I would not want you idle, locking you away would be a waste of your talent.”

 

This time Jazz bristled, he’d heard that talk before and he did not like it.

 

-”I’ll not be your interface toy ya know.”

 

Prowl stopped in mid-reach to Jazz and uncoiled his tail from around the mech to give him some space. He seemed perplexed for a moment and then his optics brightened as if it clicked in his mind why Jazz had reacted like that.

 

-”I have no interest in you being one, Jazz. What I meant was infiltration.”

 

-”Oh.” Not knowing what else to add to that Jazz looked down. At his peds, swinging from the rafters. The morning bells started chiming and with a scratch of scales, Prowl made his way down from the rafters. 

 

Intrigued, Jazz followed, by hopping down and quietly landing in a graceful crouch.

 

Prowl had already transformed into his mech form and started collecting the items they had disrupted the night before.

 

Since Prowl was not elaborating more on his idea Jazz decided to butt in. 

 

-”What do ya mean by infiltration?”

 

Smirking, Prowl approached Jazz and removed a speck of dust from his plating.

 

-”I will have to work now but I will explain more if you come for another scribing session.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am breaking up my wall of text here. Stay tuned


End file.
